Marianne leans further forward on her perch, so much that she swings around and dangles upside down from the underside. She folds her arms across her chest and taps away at the crook of her elbow with an impatient finger. Her face is frozen in a permanent smirk, and all her breathing is done by way of half-laughing snorts out of her nose. But she is quiet enough, still enough, hidden enough to allow for this small indulgence.

So, this is what it looks like when a shield plays at being a spear. And for that matter, what it looks like when a mongrel dog plays at being a gentleman. Quelle suprise, their dance is a wonder only to slack-jawed dimwits and drunkards waiting to stumble home with lightened pockets and heavier hearts. It takes patience and vision to see a sham for what it is.

And still, she holds her hand. This is Canada's moment to shine, bright as she is, and her moment to dance. A cloak must know when to hang itself on the rack, lest its owner stumble on the tattered, fluttering ends. Therefore wait, Marianne! Watch, Marianne! A dagger in the knight is worth ten spears in the glittering sun! And when the trumpet sounds your song, then it will be your turn to dance, yes yes!

Marianne's eyes dart all across the room, marking each grovelling Annunaki in turn. She is out of patience with Shamash, beyond needing to care about the nameless dredge, but Jezcha holds her attention longer than the rest. Ah, is this your doing, little star? How sweet you are to worry! Fret not, Marianne has found tonight's calling card, yes!

It's not sloth that's held her hand. It is not mercy. It is not fear. It is not even trust. It is merely the understanding that a castle must sometimes be pulled down brick by single brick. Her chosen sisters, they were dreamers with heads full of glittering ideals. But she, Marianne, was here to do a job. And she did not achieve that job by selling out results for anybody's pretty thoughts. Canada would not fail. Canada might get herself maimed beyond recognition tonight, but even that will serve the Cause. The opening, the crack, the moment where the mission will smother everything like a blanket carved from pure night sky will come. And when it does, she will dive. And they will, together, tear loose another brick or three.

Attendre et espérer.

Anathet!

[They are cruel. They are above. They will take you and break you into pieces.] Tia is agitated; you feel clay crack under your skin, hear the aftershock of a sharp retort. [I have to keep you safe,] she continues. [You are my friend.]

There is an undercurrent there. Possibly an unhealthy attachment. The kind of desperation that suggests you might be her only friend.

[You should hide under the city, where it’s safe, and—]

Oh, whoops. Her head tilts as she picks up on your recent associations with the undercity. [Who is Oumou?] If you didn’t know better, you’d say she sounds jealous.

(Oumou is the Malian bouncer who took you out for fried tofu. Two years your senior, her day job is animal husbandry in one of the Agricultural Blocks, and she used to work at a women and children’s center in Halcyon. She’s got a laugh that starts low and you’re not quite sure whether she’s interested in you or just intrigued by your audacity. She’s hard to read. How did the date go, by the way?)

***

Canada!

This is the most awkward parade float you have ever been on. You have an honor guard of janissaries that are mostly decorative; everybody here is very, very aware that the minute you spring into action, Shamash will be the one responding. So instead they’ve been assigned to glower at the back of your head so that Jezcha can feel like she’s been a big girl.

Another example of the awkward energy is the question of what, exactly, to do about your face. Shamash hasn’t commented on it, yet, but your incredible beauty is a thing of legend already, and you’re walking around veilless. So a compromise has been made and you are currently hidden from the city behind multiple fans and banners being held by a retinue under strict orders not to look at your face.

“When did they train you?” Shamash does not look down at you, standing at the prow of the massive chariot-themed parade float. But he does modulate his heavily-synthesized voice so that it doesn’t deafen you. “We thought we had kept the Zhianku out,” he adds, with a wave of his hand to the adoring cheers of the assembled Annunaki (themselves underneath umbrellas and elaborate tents, being fanned and served chilled drinks) and the Faithful (abasing themselves and praising Shamash in a dozen tongues, both alien and terrestrial). “Was it after our arrival?”

Probing. Looking for information. Or just making awkward small talk. The complicating factor is that you probably have no clue what a Zhianku is. Is the Cat a Zhianku? That totally makes sense, right?

***

Marianne!

Strange things happen in the half-relic of the Shamashi arena. The racetrack is the cultural center of this temple complex, but there’s no way that the High God will simply challenge Canada to a race. No, it’s going to be a beatdown. One that, for the sake of the human race, Canada Taliv must lose.

This is a place of avarice and hunger. Illicit deals are made here in the private boxes, and forbidden pleasures from across the stars are smoked. The Shamashi are overly helpful in assisting the Marduki in preparing the decrepit place for a proper gladiatorial spectacle, and you can taste their anxieties, their lies, their sins. But they are sins not within your purview to punish, by and large, save that they ignore the slaves who clean the stands and wipe down the stained seats and polish the stairs until they shine.

The game must be rigged, just to be sure that shield does not heroically doom humanity. Canada must be made to lose. And there are so many places where you may play here, yes, yes: the unattended power couplings, the labyrinth of half-abandoned tunnels, and the hidden stashes of strange fruits and crushed powders. This is your domain now, though the sun shines so bright at midday. The brighter the light, the darker the shadow, non?

Canada knew her way around a parade - but usually they came after she'd defeated the villain rather than immediately prior. And this wasn't really an autographs and encouraging smiles kind of situation. What was she meant to do with her face? What energy should she be giving out? Grim and stoic? Let's try for grim and stoic. She frowned in what she hoped was a way that signaled her disapproval but... like... in a resistancy way.

"You'll have to forgive me," she said, "but your educational system is far too miserable for you to reasonably expect me to know who the Zhianku is. But you know that already, seeing as how you assume I've got my training from elsewhere..."

The awkwardness of the High God made her feel strangely confident in dropping some smack talk. Sure, he was ten million feet tall and about to kill her but he wasn't crying with laughter and consuming the concept of innocence so she was already way ahead of her expectations right now.

Abijah ab-Marduk!

This is not how you pictured your afternoon going. It was supposed to involve a lot more sipping fizzy drinks and being fanned by your absolute cutie of a slave-girl, for one thing. And for another you weren't supposed to even see Lady Jezcha, let alone have her pawn off her duties on you at the last minute. Spoiled little Daddy's Girl, who does she think she is? Next time you'll give her a piece of your mind, that's what you'll do!

Haha, who are you kidding? She is terrifying. She'd probably shoot you in half just for thinking about this, let alone saying it. Besides, the chain had got to be respected, or else how were the poor, stupid slaves to be expected to know how to fall in line? But that's not stopping you from being in a foul mood. Patrol the arena, Abijah! Oversee the cleaning, Abijah! Whip the slaves, Abijah! Bitch. You honestly can't decide whether you'd rather this turn out to be a waste of your time and at least be over quickly or actually find something worth policing and have a fresh target to take out all this frustration on.

You're just about to reach the conclusion that you need a punching bag after all when a horrifically cold wind comes clawing up your legs and pulls a shiver straight out of your spine. Brr. Your expertly trained ears pick up the heavy clomping of feet and you wheel around with slightly too jumpy to be intimidating energy and raise your weapon into firing position. A ratty earth girl with a broom drops cowering to the ground in terror, but it's of you. There's nothing else here.

"Show yourself!" you bark, but you're already wincing inside because the upward trail of your voice just betrayed you.

You growl, and the slave girl prostrates herself on her stomach, not sure how else to please you. You sigh and lower your weapon a moment later. You're being stupid. It's just because Shamash has come. You're nervous because if you get blamed for some stupid draft spoiling their glory and their pleasure it's going to mean hell for you and yours. Better go find that busted tunnel so you can get a slave to fix it in time.

You make it twenty paces into the shadow of a wall before instinct makes you pull your weapon up again, hot and ready to fire. You definitely heard that. That... that horrible scraping sound. The clattering. The throaty chuckle rolling just behind it. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. You can't even tell if the footsteps are getting closer or farther away, because they seem to be coming from a dozen different directions all at once. You spin twice around, but there's nothing here besides the shadows. The shapes splashed across the walls remind you of wings.

"Where are you? Surrender yourself now!"

You have to fight to sound authoritative; the air is getting so cold in here it's starting to dull your thoughts. You hear a strange, metallic click and spin to see the source, and your blood freezes in your body all at once. She's here. The demon is here, with her baleful eyes and her disgustingly tattered, foul smelling rags, leaning on a wall and puffing on a burning stick of incense. The cloud of smoke she breathes out smells like death. Oh no. Oh heavens, grant you strength, she's smiling.

You fire without thinking about it, more times than you can count right now. The wall smolders in response. There is no Demon there at all. So why can you still see the ruby glint of Ma-Ri-Ann's fangs?

Rattle, rattle. You hear the jangling of chains just behind you, just above, just... underneath! You spin, you dance, you point your weapon everywhere, but you find nothing but vile smelling mist to shoot at.

"Allons enfants de la Patrie~"

This is a spell. This is an evil spell. It has to be a spell. She... Ma-Ri-Ann casts spells, right? Your feet feel heavy. Your legs are turning to stone, surely. Why can't you move?!

"Le jour de gloire est arrivé!"

It's so cold. It's so, so cold. Forget being mad, forget Jezcha, forget whatever punishment you're supposed to be afraid of, you need to run! It can't be worse than this... singing, and the scraping metal accompanying it.

"Contre nous de la tyrannie
L'étendard sanglant est levé~"

You summon every last bit of energy left in your shivering, frozen body, and you sprint toward the sun. Toward safety. You make it six full strides before the serpents find you. Cold and metal, made of links instead of scales, but slithering, wriggling, squirming, squeezing, biting just the same. You open your mouth to scream, only to find an arm bursting forth from the writhing mass of chain-serpent to clamp its red gloved hand across your lips underneath your veil.

"L'étendard sanglant est levé!"

In the tunnels beneath the arena, a chill winter's wind is howling. The body of Abijah ab-Marduk sinks into the floor with screams reduced to whimpers. And those soon smothered by laughter. The shadows writhe and deepen.

This place belongs to her. To the demon, Marianne.

[Potential 3. Insecure]

Dancing gingerly here. Such careful mental gymnastics. At least Anathet was a little more prepared here, more focused than last time and now entirely focused on Tia.

[You mean the gods? Like Shamash? That's who I'm here to learn about, we need to find out about them, what they want for our world]

They met right where Anathet said they should. She'd been fifteen minutes early and staring about trying to look cool and not fretful, but doing a terrible job of it by constantly glancing around the market so she didn't miss the bouncer she was supposed to meet. She hadn't been on a date like, ever, and her dreams were a mix of childhood habits (hence the fretful looking about like a schoolgirl waiting to get picked up), old reading material, Zhianku romance (which involved some very risque aura mixing), and whatever her teenage mind had made up out of desperation. She still hadn't seen the bouncer, who she learned was Oumou until she was nearly on top of her. She'd almost jumped out of her robes at the sight.

[Tia, what do you...what do you think being friends means? Does it just mean keeping me safe no matter what? I know I'm small, but I want to do stuff too, not just stay hidden!]

She'd tried to settle herself in. Oumou was mysterious, but her aura didn't have any anger in it, or even much fear. Curiosity, some intrigue, some sense of trying to hold herself in check, but nothing risky. That had calmed Anathet down a lot, she had been worried she'd somehow blow it in the first ten seconds. Instead she'd said hi, tried to smile beneath her veil in that way that made her eyes sparkle. Unconsciously fixed her wide hat. After the greetings, Oumou had taken her by the hand! She had blushed so hard but tried not to say anything. She wasn't sure if Oumou just thought she was small and needed to be led, or if it was a romantic gesture, or something kind of chivalrous and protective in the market for a friend. She didn't really want to know, it was much better not knowing.

The belated sense of gratitude. [Thank you, for trying to protect me. That's important too, I really do appreciate it. Maybe, tell me how I can keep myself safe, how to stay hidden from the gods. Do they...um...are they like you? Like, where they get their powers? No, wait, you're related to the djinn, they're doing something different, right?]

The fried tofu was delicious. Anathet really liked that kind of fair, and getting to eat was the one time where you didn't have to worry too much about keeping everything around your face in perfect order. Food needed to be snuck beneath the veil, but the motion didn't have to be absolutely perfect, so that was something. The shop smelled good too, and the small wooden seats were firm and let Anathet's feet touch the floor. Oh, gods, had Oumou chosen it so Anathet could sit straight that way? No, no way, she had definitely picked it for the food, this was just a coincidence. Why was she blushing again?!

A-anyway, she'd asked Oumou about work, avoided the topic of family since she hadn't wanted to share about her own mom. Everybody knew not to ask too much about family since the invasion, there was always the risk someone had crossed the Annunaki the wrong way. They'd talked a little about food, Anathet had shared how the Zhianku learned about other cultures, watching her aura when she ate and adjusting for sweetness and spice. She'd noticed Oumou liked her tofu with chili and had added some more to her own to match.

[I need to hide my friends too. The others I was with in the library. And Oumou, she's a friend too, we just met. It's okay to have more than one friend, maybe you could meet them too? Marianne was...I think she wanted to meet you before, she seemed a bit disappointed when you left at the library.]

Oumou was just a friend, right? They'd parted ways with a little sort of handshake but handhold kind of thing. Nothing tender in public even in the lower city, it might get reported. But, why did Anathet keep picturing that low rumbling laugh as Oumou moved closer and closer to her. Why did she keep imagining a hand around her shoulders pulling her close, her robes brushing up against Oumou's utilitarian pants. Why couldn't she stop blushing?!

[Pierce the mask: 5+1-1=5. Now at 4 potential]

Canada!

The sound of Shamash’s laughter is uncomfortable. It’s wheezing electronica in good humor, but all it needs is a gentle push and it’d plummet down into unhinged mania. Like, this vibe is seriously unhealthy. Is this an Emperor’s New Clothes thing, like, where the Annunaki are desperately trying to convince themselves this giant wrecking ball is a stable genius?

“Don’t let Sister Ishtar hear you say that!” Their jovial backslap nearly knocks you off your feet. Luckily, the thews of Canada Taliv are dauntless! “She’d rip your spine out. What do you think, honored one?” Their attention falls on the Huntsman of Caphtor, heavy as lead. “Should I rip her spine out? Is that in fashion?”

“Whatever you deem worthy, Exalted One of the Higher Airs,” Asahel says bleakly. “As you will, so shall it be done.”

“I’ll take her eyes,” Shamash says, breezily. Have they forgotten you’re standing right there? “So she can’t look any more. Like we haven’t fought the Zhianku ever since they tried to hide their home from our sight. Like we don’t know when we’re looked at.”

They are one loose hinge away from absolutely unhinged. And everyone ignores it.

Shift your Dangerous down and your Mundane up, or reject their influence; their every word tells you that your only way out is by diverting them somehow, not fighting them head on.

***

Daisy!

You’re not supposed to be down here. And it’s a terrible idea, anyway. For all you know, that thing is actually some alien parasite and it’s planting bug eggs inside the Annunaki right now.

But what kind of space parasite can sing La Marseillaise?

“Hello?” Your strangled half-whisper is simultaneously way too loud and stupidly quiet. And what are you supposed to say, anyway? Hello, Miss Shadow Monster, if you’re eating Annunaki I have a LIST? Hello, Miss Freaky Alien, you don’t eat humans, right?

“If you’re down here,” you say at the dark, “I want to talk to you!”

***

Anathet!

It’s like your helpful explanations are slices of salami slapping against a brick wall as Tia roots through those memories of a happy date. She turns an interesting shade of burgundy and lets out a strangled psychic hiss that crescendos into an explosion of impossible broken angles and corrupted data. You almost manage to not look away. Almost.

Through the psychic buzz of Tia’s tantrum (and of course she’s gone, again, having stamped her foot and fragmented) you realize that the light levels are changing. The library shutters are closing! You grab at your rift generator, which happily throbs its “emergency reboot in progress” indicator.

Tia (accidentally?) alerted the Annunaki there was someone here, because you’d have to be a rock not to get the backwash of that psychic tantrum, and you’ve got maybe a minute before household janissaries start investigating the stacks. And you are definitely not supposed to be in here.

"Oh no," said Canada. "I'm so sorry for you. Imagine being looked at."

She was staring him full in the face. She wasn't afraid any more. Her white knuckled fists trembled.

"I can't imagine a worse thing that could possibly happen to you, poor baby darling sweetums," said Canada in her most patronizing voice. "I don't know how you cope with being looked at! That's the worst thing that's ever happened to anyone! How wise and mighty you are to know when people are looking at you! How clever and magnificent of you to to think of solving that problem with violence! I admit, I was doubtful at first, but now I really do see why everyone calls you a high god!"

[Reject his influence: 11
Cancelling his influence and taking +1 forward against him, clearing Guilty by acting to prove him wrong]

[Potential 4. Insecure]

Set (quietly) slams a frustrated fist into the ground behind the statute. [Tia! Tia, we are going to need to talk about boundaries! You can't just root around in my mind when you get upset, and you can't put me in danger when you're trying to keep me safe either!]

She only had a few minutes before guards arrived and she was in a circular library, no time for being angry. She still had her blasters, so she could cause damage or blind her opponents. She rubbed a hand over her jewelry, feeling the slow growing pulse of the rift generators. They wouldn't be ready to use before the guards arrived. She'd practiced attuning them when the Zhianku had first gifted them to her, and a handful of times when she'd been training and when she had to travel. It would go faster if she could run the palace grounds a bit, the more space she took in herself, the faster they'd get back in sync with the area.

She looked down at the library, the senior Annunaki suddenly looking alert, but...she still wanted to get something out of this. If she could do some kind of snatch and grab, maybe a hostage. She didn't have Marrianne's strength, but she could probably knock one of these ones out, they were in the library in the heart of their estate, not armed or expecting combat. Maybe that could stall the guards if she attacked, stole something, and slipped out a side door. They'd give chase but...hmm. What if she doubled back instead, tried to loop a circle through the area?

Set tried to recollect her memories of the estate. She had been through here a few times. There wouldn't be that many guards, not immediately at least, just a handful coming from nearby posts in the first few minutes. How many entrances and exits did she have to choose from, was it more than they could cover all at once?

[Assess the Situation: 4+4+3=11.
What here can I use to get something out of this little expedition without being captured?
What here is the greatest danger?]

Ah, the careful whisper in the dark: fighting to be heard and missed with equal force. What could be worse than being caught, except for being ignored? When the effort of these few chanced and clumsy words costs a person their life, when their frightened and pounding heartbeat sounds louder in their ears than their plea, when fear and doubt and uncertainty quiver in every hoarse syllable, and these words are spoken anyway? They are worth more than the proclamations of a thousand so-called Kings and Queens. They are worth more than a pile of riches so deep they could pay for a lifetime's worth of idle pleasures and never near the bottom. They are worth more than an army arriving at your back with the coming of the dawn. Such words deserve an answer. Such words can summon Marianne.

Laughter cracks like a whip in the dark. Everywhere this little interloper steps, the ground cracks at her feet. Small splinters at first, that grow wider and wider as steps turn to stomps and even full on leaps away, until the hall is filled with an eerie green witch-light as the world inside the architecture bursts open for these chosen eyes to see. There's a yelp and a lash of chains, and with two yanks in two directions, Daisy sinks down to her thighs as Abijah rises from a particularly wide hole to dangle from the ceiling by her ankles.

The proud Annunaki is wrapped provocatively in chains that seem placed to tease and tantalize as much as they're there to hold her in place. The ones wrapped into a thick ball around her wrists and hands make sense, as do the links squeezing her calves together, but does she need the ones snaking around her thighs or her stomach? What are the ones pressing up against the underside of her chest supposed to do other than, um... lift and separate? She's been stripped of her veil, too. Or rather it's been put to better use crammed inside of her lips, with a small length of silver bindings holding it in place and making sure she's little more than a silent witness to this meeting of the minds.

All at once, the ground sews itself shut again. It's disturbingly solid and even more disturbingly still squeezing Daisy's legs like a vice. But just before she can scream for forgiveness or for help, a hand grabs her by the collar and roughly drags her up out of the ground to drop her on her butt on the hard, smooth, frigid stone of the arena catacombs. There is the sound of a deep breath, and a cloud of smoke wafts from somewhere in the darkness.

"Do you know? When summoning a demon, it is customary to make an offering. Shall I take your soul, little robin? I think I will, if I do not like the sweetness of your song."

Her burning eyes are the only source of light down here. Marianne's teeth glint with evil sharpness against that backdrop with her wide and daring grin. Her boots tap softly on the ground until she's standing just at Abijah's side. She traces her fingers along the Annunaki's spine with a playful sort of possessiveness, stoops to press her thumb against the underside of her jaw, and rises to fingers along the crisscrossed pathways of chains winding up and down her thighs. Marianne leers at her guest.

"You would like to taste the goods as well, yes? Come and speak with Marianne! What wish do you have that makes you so bold, hmm? What weight has dragged you down into my world, hmmm?"

Canada!

Gasps. Stunned, horrified silence. The banner in front of your face drops and you catch a glimpse of the sun glinting on Shamash’s armor. You have mouthed off to a god, and that makes you mighty. And maybe mighty dead.

Then Shamash just keeps laughing, and the Huntsman of Caphtor joins in nervously, and so does everyone else. ”Ah,” Shamash says. ”I will keep you. Imagine killing such a funny creature!”

——

The meal is ridiculously extravagant. You sit at the right hand of a god, who isn’t eating at all. Instead, food is being cooked in front of him, filling the air with the tantalizing aromas of cooking meat and spices.

You have some sort of crab drop soup. It is very unclear whether you are meant to eat the crustacean or it’s an inedible flavor additive. Ditto on the beaks filled with stuffing on the side.

Below the dais, worshippers shuffle in and out. Few Annunaki grovel here; instead, their slaves bring gifts and offer prayers of praise in their stead. No one dares look up at you, and the feast hall feels more like a cathedral in the middle of some very particularly sacred festival to a portentous saint.

It is begging for you to make a scene.

***

Anathet!

Escape? Actually pretty easy. Duck behind the statue of the Dying Lynx-warrior. Wait until the sweep has passed you by. Duck out, stun the light guard on the door, leg it. Lose your pursuit in the upper gallery. Effortless.

No, the real danger is that without any explanation offered, the Annunaki will be on high alert moving forward. This little incident will make them take further measures to stop you and any other psychics who might be in the city. If there were some way you could convince them it was natural or otherwise a simple accident, maybe relating to some trophy they had on display here...

***

Daisy!

Your heart hammers wildly in your chest out of a wild, terrified thrill. The words are stumbling out of you as you stumble forward on your hands and knees, your head level with the dangling slaver.

“I want you to do this to Abdi ab-Shamash, she’s from the House of Morning Falcons. And to Geba, her vicious sister. And to Lazaari, their Thornback. I want you to make them terrified and beg for mercy like they make us. I want you to leave them in the dark bound and gagged and wondering what you’re going to do to them next. Please. What do I need to do? Whatever you want.”

Even as you say it, you flinch. Did you offer the devil your soul? It’s quite possible. But right now, seeing the squirming Annunaki... you reach out and smack her cheek, once, thrilling as she squeaks indignantly. You want more. You want a cane and room to swing. No worse than what they’ve done to you and far more justified.

The gulf of time between her actions and their consequences is having a confusing effect on Canada's mindset. Her heart had been pounding in terror, her hands had been shaking with adrenaline, her body had been soaked with sweat. She had been ready to fight. She had been ready to be broken. And it just kept not happening. This day just kept going. The tension kept building but she couldn't get any tenser so was, perversely, relaxing instead.

Was this the plan? To have her twitch and sweat herself out before the fight?

... did they need to have a plan like that?

She stopped paying attention to the pagentry and started to focus on her opponent, this god. Were they smiling? Were they actually having fun? Had they really broken their habit of years to come down to this planet to laugh and watch people kneel before them? Was this their best life, right here?

Was there anything below the surface at all?

[Pierce the Mask: 11. Is he actually enjoying all of this?]

Marianne snorts, and tosses her head back to laugh like a lion. Regal and bellowing, as much roar as mirth, she fills the halls with her sound as easily as she's filled them with herself. Her hands grab possessively up and down her Annunaki prisoner, leaving few secrets between them. Then she snaps her fingers, and the chain lowers her all the way to the floor to wiggle and pant and moan herself into a stupor. There are other matters to attend to, yes.

"Is that so? Is that the dearest wish of your heart, that crawled all the way through the dark and the cold just to find me and speak it into the world? I wonder..."

Clonk. Clonk. Clonk. Marianne's boots pound out a heavy tread from every side of her... guest as she moves closer. She looms over the other girl, smoking like she's just been on fire, smelling like a forest full of charcoal after a storm. Her teeth are even sharper and less inviting when she scowls.

"Open yourself to me," she thunders and grabs the girl by either side of her head, "You have no secrets. You have no lock, I need no key. Unfold. Unfurl. Unravel. Reveal the pathway to your heart and let me walk the pathways of your secret garden."

Her grip is iron. The shadows deepen across her face and warp her mask to something animistic and terrifying. The third eye opens on her forehead, and burns with terrible golden light. Impossible to look away from, impossible not to wish she'd blink.

[Unleash Your Powers: 8. Marking Angry for a deep look at the world of Daisy's heart, which Marianne will draw her own conclusions from]

[Potential 4. Insecure]

[Unleash powers: 6+2+3=11]

So it was a game of hide and go seek. Set could do that sort of trick even without portals. Perception was nothing but a trick of the mind, after all. She laughed silently to herself, nothing but the softest rustle of colorful skirts on stone. Or were they colorful? Her own aura was muted, her jewels seeming to suck up the light of her clothing until she melded into the stone around her, dancing through the library.

Oh Tia, Tia, at least you had the good graces to pick the Seneschal of Marduk's library for your foolishness. The only better place to play would have been a lab of one of the Ab-Enkiji, those mad scientists who didn't know half the forces they tampered with.

Set slipped from the statue where she had been crouched with Tia, circled the upper tier with her soft sandals no more than a whisper on the stone. The guards were pounding their loud boots, but they weren't here yet and her search wasn't long.

Let's see, let's see. Adumbrian star rod, seized in battle, useless for a disturbance because it would be either silent or the entire room would be alight with celestial fire. Zhianku anti-gravity orb, oh that one was a fake she could see the magnets embedded in the base, that was cute, wonder why the Seneschal had that out on display. Hmm, maybe the Annunaki mesh generator, presumably on display as some of the Seneschal's old gear in a past campaign. Hmm, no no that would have been more obvious, it would be confusing if they looked around the room and saw it now but not before when the psychic disturbance happened. Ah! Ah, there, a necklace of sapphires in a display case. Most of the guests probably thought this one decorative, but Anathet recognized a gem meant to trap psychic energy, the Zhianku had thousands of them. This wasn't in their style, but perhaps it was captured from another group? It didn't matter either way, this was absolutely perfect. She could make it seem like the psychic energy from Tia had been the first sign of the artifact malfunctioning. Pump in a little more energy, let it start feeding on the perceptions of people coming into the room, and they'd all think it was just some thing that had broken for one reason or another. If it got blamed on some hapless cleaning slave, she'd have to see about mounting a rescue later.

Set raises her own bracelet, lapis gemstone humming in harmony with the sapphires, and the lights in the room flicker and darken. Or maybe people only see them darken? In come the guards through the door where the statue had been, and Set's bracelet shines once with a bright flash, transferring its energy to the dormant necklace. Now count heartbeats with Set

One

She leaps from the balcony to the lower level, nothing but a shadow fading into all the other shadows. The suddenly much darker shadows. Marianne would love it here.

Two

She circles again, the light linens cling to her thighs and outline her legs as she dashes, but nobody sees it because her whole energy is focused on suppressing her own aura. Nobody is looking at her, they're looking up at the flash of light that reached them later than it should have, as though it were swimming through water, not shining through air.

Three

She's behind a shelf, bringing herself closer to the reading nobles than she managed before Tia had pushed her back. She's pressed up flat, nothing but a piece of the stonework herself, just one more in a long line of pointless trophies to an insatiable ego.

Four

The room is bathed in darkness, but the lights haven't gone out. The guards are stumbling, pushing forward as though they're brushing thick foliage out of their way. It's nearly pitch black, just wait for it.

Five

The glass case shatters, the energy that Anathet had embedded in the sapphires, that had sucked away the perception of everyone in the room bursts forth in a blazing light. Everyone is blind, the artifact has gone wild! A little ghost wearing rainbows runs past a central table and picks up a tablet dropped by an advisor to the Seneschal. She passes within a few feet of his face, but he never sees her.

Then it's out the lower doors and into the hallways as our little ghost bounds of the room. She needs only find some shadows and wait for her bracelet to finish its attunement and then she will be out and gone with none the wiser.

Canada!

Nah.

This is keeping up appearances. A display of majesty and power, soaking in the worship. But when that helmet shifts towards you, you see the way their limbs flex, as if they’re already beating you down. It’s a lot like setting out a cake and then waiting for the perfect moment to eat it so it’ll be special. They want the cake. It’s why they came down here. But the smoke is just smoke; there’s no satisfied, rattling sigh coming out of that helmet, no low, rumbling purr. It’s all a show.

“Excuse me, Exalted One.” There is looming. An Annunaki has appeared on your right side, accompanied by a Lynx who is now on your left. “This humble servant of your sister-wife, She Who Turns The Wheel Of Torment, mighty star-cracking Ereshkigal, who discerns truth through her implements of agony and delight, must have a moment of your guest’s time to discuss the security of the city.”

Shamash raises one hand. Everything stops. Prayers cease. Golden silverware (goldenware?) freezes on its way beneath veils. There is the crackle of burning meat and the sound of a lot of people holding their breath.

”I want her back,” the god says. ”Unbroken. Not yet.”

“But of course, most radiant master of the horizons,” the Inquisitor says smoothly. Fearlessly? With conviction. Her hand on your shoulder is steady and chill by their standards (which means it feels like someone who was just outside in the sunlight). “I would converse with her. Little more.”

”Do not make me seek her out.” The hand is lowered. After a tense moment, one of the attendant priestesses makes an impatient gesture at the musicians and the feast resumes.

You are pulled up to your feet and frog-marched towards a side door by an Inquisitor of Ereshkigal and her hunts-cat. On a scale of one to ten, how much are you making them fight for it?

***

Marianne!

The pathways of her secret heart are easy to slink down. Your flanks brush against black velvet curtains, and behind them is the sound of an audience, and the snap of camera-bulbs. An actress-in-waiting, then. The Annunaki took this from her, like they take everything and shape it to themselves. They do not ask their slaves what role they should like to play! They simply use them as tools to fill a need, yes. Mop the floors, little starlet!

Now your shoulders graze the cramped ceilings of a high school. Ah, she is young. To have already learned how to hate! So exciting. Faces float by, rivals, boon companions, an intricate web that she remembers more fondly than it deserves. Anyone would, after being torn away from both its joys and cruelties, and—

A flash of gold.

She knew your Ètoile’s sister. An underclassman, an acquaintance. A fleeting connection. But one that might stir a softer heart inside you. This girl should be grousing about her job serving coffee, should be coming home to a beloved she-cat sleeping in the sun (who she has not seen in years now), not mopping the passageways of an Annunaki arena.

Ah. Here. Squeeze yourself down into the residential cell. How it rattles and shakes and roars with the sound of chariots coming and going! Daisy holds her hands carefully around the flower growing from her chest, stained off-white. Her hands throb with smoke and fire. Anger chokes the roots, anger that curls into smoke and fills your lungs. Anger at the ridiculous dress codes. Anger at being taken away from home and pet and dreams. Anger at being disciplined at the whim of her spacey, careless owners.

How dare they? What gives them the right to do this?

***

Set!

Read between the lines. Sit in a safe place (where, exactly, is safe enough for perusal of stolen messages?) and let the symbols carve themselves into the slab over and over again.

Our tempestuous sibling is to be rendered the respect they are indebted. Their word shall be your reward.

If you screw this visit up, your ass is grass. If they come back and complain, your ass is grass. If they gush about their treatment, maybe you’ll get stockholder bonuses. We don’t actually respect Shamash, or at the very least, I don’t.

The high links are constant and certain in their movements. It is the low that are warm and likable.

If Shamash is erratic and acts like a rock star, indulge them. Your job is to act like a slave. Pass the shit downwards if you have to.

Thus is the proclamation of Marduk.

As interpreted by a secretary who took it to a Djinn so that it could be written down by another secretary. Wouldn’t it be interesting if that process was interrupted somehow?

Regardless. This might be the perfect time to blackmail the Seneschal. Have Marianne show up in his office, threaten to disrupt Shamash’s stay unless certain things are done, and you could play him like a violin. He’d be incandescent afterwards, but this is literally a once in a lifetime opportunity...

This is a date.

She'd fallen for it again. Again! People just kept asking her on totally innocent group adventures or team missions, or made some big show of suggesting checking something out together, but then whoops nobody else had shown up and the penny dropped that all of that elaborate setup had been for her benefit. All of this wasn't because he was a powerful divine figure, it was because he was trying to butter her up so she'd - er, give him a good fight. Principle was the same! Just another giant horse-headed androgynous skeezeball who thought they could win her over with their fancy chariot and the labours of the oppressed.

Well there was one thing she could do to absolutely ruin their day.

"Oh, thank goodness," she said, standing up abruptly without needing to be pulled. "At last, someone who wants a real fight without needing dinner and a backrub first." This was coming out with way more innuendo than she'd planned but with the date metaphor in her head it was hard to shake. It was easy to walk out without a second glance at Shamash - it was something to emote boredom and stifle nervousness at the same time.

She honestly had no idea what she was in for with Ereshkigal but she was hoping she'd at least get to the point. A spiteful part of her mind thought that if she got defeated by her instead then Shamash would have come down onto the planet for the first time in years, insulted to his face without retaliating, and stood up at dinner. And given that she knew a thing or two about really bad dates, she actually kind of thought that might sit with him longer than if she'd just kicked his ass.

[Provoke: 10. I want Shamash to stew in friendzoned frustration until they snap and goes after Ereshkigal to prove that they're the real top villain here]

[Potential 4. Insecure]

With the Annunaki in charge, no one can truly feel safe. But reading in the garden is the closest that Anathet can get. She had returned to her room and put away her Set costume in a portal for ease of access, and then simply gathered a handful of tablets. Some she kept for her own writing, some had short novels contained in them (she was really into the Hyperborea spin-off series where Jessamine, Esmeralda, and Kyouko had an unlikely team up), and one had her prize from the estate.

She tucked them into her sleeves and went out behind her little cottage to go and read in the moonlight. While one side of her little tea house had a clear view of the Seneschal's estate, on the back side, she had created a sand garden and behind that was a series of maple trees arranged in a neat grove. She had always loved the shape of the leaves and the way they turned colors during the seasons, and she loved the idea of building up a tranquil series of forest paths, so having the trees planted had been one of her first gardening decisions. It wasn't as fancy as the little rainbow falls she had crafted, but a maple grove with wandering paths set the mood of the place and allowed visitors (and the hostess) an option for tranquility and solace. She had begun planting various flowers around the bushes along with lines of hedges to better structure the experience, and one of the paths looped around to the uncovered area where the little stream and its waterfall garden was. Little steps to build up a nice space here. One that made her feel comfortable, and that pleased the Annunaki and their servants who visited. It was nice, at least, that they did appreciate her taste and she didn't have to do anything gaudy like some kind of huge sculpture of the winged cats they liked. They'd probably make her do a veil for it out of Azaleas, gods.

Evening visitors were exceptionally rare, especially at a time like this with such lockdown, and she wasn't sure whether Tia would be joining her or not after that little outburst, so she simply found a quiet spot at the base of a tree and set herself to reading.

It was not long before she was nearly quivering with excitement. Oh, this was so good. The Seneschal was in a bind, they could get anything out him. If they were careful, they might even embarrass him over it in a way that would make his rage afterwards impotent because they'd have even more blackmail material. It was probably too much to hope he could even be made into a permanent mole, but a girl could dream! At the least, they could use him to get access to, oh, maybe the Ab-Enkiji wing with its weapons and its anti-djinn laser. And perhaps she could get a hint of how to reach Tia, though that would be difficult without overplaying their hand. Ah, so many ideas, she was practically bouncing happily in her little spot by the tree, her robes rippling up and down with the motion. This was the best!

Marianne squeezes her fingers through a keyhole to stick her hand inside a desk drawer and pulls out an old, well worn book with a ratty leather cover and faded (but still dazzlingly intricate) gilded script reading 'Daisy'. She snorts and flips past the chapter about the boys who wouldn't kiss her, past the one about the boys who kissed her too much, over the tarot-like illustration that depicts her questioning her own identity, and tears out the chapter about her hopes and dreams pages at a time. Useless, to have wasted time dwelling on what's already written so clearly on the rest of her.

She snaps the book shut with a huff. This is a heart like so many others. And it is a scene that should not exist. No true breeding ground for hate, this. No deep darkness to confront and convert into more of herself. Small wonder then that she'd offer up her soul for an evening's worth of discipline to the petty tyrants that tormented her daily life. So typically human. No bargains to be struck. The kinder thing by far would be to burn out her little garden and leave only the--

Marianne stops in place, great paw a hair's breadth away from smashing through a wall on her way back out. There's a heart in her chest beating out of sync with the one that's supposed to be burning there. She frowns and strains, and doesn't move a single inch. This is the first time in her entire existence she's been the bound one, yes?

Her eyes open and look upon the scenery. Her perfectly ordinary, liquid blue eyes. When she smiles, it is not a thing of teeth and fear, but the soft every day sort of kindness that belongs in a home like this one. More than all the thunder and the chariots, more than all the smoke and rage. It's the smile of a big sister, home from school for the first time in months and ready to be Family again.

And then the moment passes. Marianne's savage grin melts over Étoile's face as she stretches her enormous catlike shadow body with carelessly languid energy. She tilts her head toward the world outside the little flower's sanctum. She licks her lips, and spreads her battered wings so she can wrap them all around the room.

All at once, the noises cease. It is quiet here. It is calm. The air is filled with starlight. The room is filled with the quiet burbling of the ocean, as though far away. She watches the flower wash clean, if only just. And bit by uneven bit, she melts into nothingness.

*****

It's a difficult thing to have your heart explored like an ancient ruin. By the time Daisy can put the pieces of herself back in order, it is plain that Marianne has had time to wander. She looms over Daisy and burns so sharp and bright that it hurt to look at her. In her hand is a... paddle? Behind her, three figures writhe against their tight and salacious chains, managing little more than helpless wiggling. Marianne leers and offers the paddle more insistently.

"A bargain struck, yes? Take your vengeance, my little... no. My Accomplice! Grab it and teach them what their 'great chain' is truly good for, yes yes yes!"

Marianne's shadow stretches far outside the bounds of her human shell in the excitement of the moment. Her grin splits her face in half. Her laugh is so terrible it turns every frustrated, muffled cry for help or defiance into the frightened squeaking of mice in seconds. Then she collapses all at once into her body and leans against a wall as calm as you like. She pauses, and takes the time to light a new cigarette.

"But be warned, my dear Accomplice," she blows the smoke in an unfocused cloud and seems to hang about her shoulders, "I am a hunter of hunters. We are sisters only so long as you devote yourself to the Cause. Liberté, égalité, fraternité, ma chérie. Take what you are owed. The rest we leave for teaching. Ours is a slow burn. Ours is a harsh curriculum. You are mine, yes. Before the night is through, you will do important work for me, yes! You are mine. And I will take from you until I am repaid. D'accord?"

Canada!

The minute you arrive "backstage," as it were, you're surrounded by servants. A Macaw starts sketching your features, a Thornback readies a tablet and stylus, blindfolded Janissaries level laser flintlocks, and the Lynx-- ouch! The Lynx pricks you with a needle to take a blood sample. This is a well-oiled and prepped operation.

Notably, this isn't the only operation going on back here: servants are stacking golden bars in an ornate display, each one stamped with the seal of Caphtor. This looks like another tribute of the city to their god. Still, it attracts your attention for a moment. What is Shamash supposed to do with that, anyway? Nod and order it carried to their chariot?

"Canada Taliv," the Inquisitor says, looking down at a tablet, "you are going to die."

Wow. Harsh.

"Had you offered yourself up to our justice beforehand," the Inquisitor continues, her voice calm and steady, "you would have lived. But Shamash holds your life in their hands now, and they mean to kill you, by all indications. Therefore, as a representative of holy Ereshkigal, I am offering you a bargain. Cooperate with my questions and I will carry out your unfinished business. You fight against civilization out of a misguided desire to protect those around you; give me their names, and I will see them given preferential treatment and protected to the best of my ability."

"Or you can die," the Lynx hisses, "and we will still track the ghost and the magician down. This is a bargain, flatfoot."

***

Marianne!

Daisy takes the paddle gleefully, and weighs it in her hand for a moment, overwhelmed and awe-struck. "Yes," she breathes. "Yes, yes, yes! Thank you, thank you! I'll... you'll protect me, right?" She's suddenly hesitant, looking over at those struggling figures, two long-limbed Annunaki and one prickly Thornback. "Because they'll be so angry..."

Her fingers tighten and loosen on the handle. Her breath goes quick and nervous through her nostrils, and one of the Annunaki sisters tosses her hair and makes an attempt at threatening Daisy, despite the shaking heads of her fellow captives. You can even hear the sneer.

***

Anathet!

It's almost dusk and you're about to leave your lovely little maple grove when Marianne looms out of the shadows and flashes that scary, scary grin of hers. It nearly gives you a heart attack, even with you prepared for Tia to pop up. But, hey, two of the gals here in one place! And you probably don't need Canada to talk with the Seneschal and present your demands, wherever that musclebound beauty is...

She'd been promised for years that she'd end up in a room like this. It was the promise of the Annunaki's oppressive, crushing system to those who defied it: one final interrogation before execution. And what was she supposed to do? Fight, snark, shout defiance? The Inquisitor had seen it all before and every step of this conversation was rehearsed. It wasn't like Shamash, who she at least might embarrass or anger. This was just the machinery of the thing, utterly impersonal in every way. Senseless bureaucratic paperwork with everyone involved checked out. So efficient.

So efficient that they'd double booked their interrogation room. Canada smiled a little - all the hard work of remembering the blindfolds and they'd still left a room full of heavily muscled people hauling around heavy objects.

She yawned, and stretched.

She glowed as she did, filled with inner light, filling the darkened room with a soft and irresistible glow, as fascinating as a sunset. Though it was wasted on blindfolded Janissaries, all the workers carrying heavy gold bars stopped, gaped, and dropped their cargo. The room was filled with clattering and clanging as carts tipped, treasure piles spilled, and coin spilled everywhere. And those keen-eared Janissaries who were tracking her by sound would suddenly be very distracted.

[Unleash my powers: 11]

"Hush my darling, hush. You will never fix their hearts with such tiny, timid hands, non! You must be bold, yes! You must be fierce, yes yes!"

Marianne licks her lips suggestively and caresses Daisy's cheek with a gentleness that can only be described as sisterly. When she grabs the paddle, she takes the smaller girl by the wrist and squeezes the fingers until her grip is just so. Her other arm slinks around the waist and braces Daisy'e leg.

"There, you see? When you strike..." she draws Daisy's arm back, "You take away their anger~"

They swat together, against the thigh of the Annunaki who'd been trying to scare Daisy into submission. Whatever her name was. Whack! Whack whack! Marianne guides the wrist and gives the blows the proper force, the kind that cows and shushes. The kind that leaves marks, but does not shatter or maim. It's the line where Daisy can feel the fight go out of her 'Mistress' without being made to take her place?

Marianne barks with laughter as she watches the aggressive leering turn to whimpers, and then begging.

"They will not be mad, little flower. My Accomplice. They will not make a peep after this, non, non! They understand. They know there will be much worse for them than these gentle love taps if they displease me, yes. They are afraid of Ma-Ri-Ann. You are not theirs anymore, chérie. You are mine. Say it. Feel it. And then play with these toys properly, yes?"

***

It's a favorite game of Marianne's to startle her companions as much as possible when she comes to see them. Today that means bursting out of the dark corner of a wall that Set has been resting against and wrapping her arms possessively around her partner while flashing that red soaked grin of hers right into Set's pretty face.

"Ça va?" she asks before she grabs her fellow thief behind the head and kisses each cheek in greeting.

She slides out of the wall like she's a thing melting out of the surface of it, snaking her way through the air with a playful jingle and draping herself all over the diminutive phantom thief. Ah, to play! To know before she looks that her sworn sister will show her nothing but resolve in her eyes. Faith, this is called. Or love, perhaps. Je taime, Set.

"We gather this day to mourn our darling Canada," she says with casual disinterest, "Whose heart is so twisted up inside she cannot see the shape of the world she lives in. She is doomed, yes. Doomed to die. I have seen it. C'est le guerre, n'est-ce pas?"

She chuckles, and the grip around Set's shoulders tightens.